


Strength in Darkness

by Rhysand_vs_Fenrys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys/pseuds/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys
Summary: After she is woken by a particularly horrible nightmare, Elain asks her husband to take her to the only place that might help her make sense of everything that has happened to her: Under the Mountain.**This fic comes in two versions: Elucien (Posted as Chapter 1) and Elriel (Posted as Chapter 2) with no significant difference between the stories.





	1. Chapter 1

##  **Strength in Darkness (Elucien Edition)**

 

_Help me!_

_Please- Feyre, Nesta, help me!_

Elain was being boiled alive. Every atom of her being was ripped apart and reordered as she thrashed in fire and darkness. Her own screaming was all she heard. Her entire world had been ripped away and replaced with only agony and solitude. Inch by inch, her body stopped being hers and became something  _else_.

Days passed in blinding agony.

Weeks.

Months.

Centuries.

She stopped trying to hold on to any semblance of sanity as she felt  _something_  surrounding her in her pain. It was drawn in by her suffering and- and she realized she didn’t care what it was. A monster come to devour her? If so, that meant her ordeal might end.

With everything she had left, she reached for that beast, giving it permission to destroy her. Death was the only release she could imagine anymore. If she survived, she would have to feel it always. That acid melting her bones and the fires reforming her- the agony would never end.

The beast had devoured souls before, but there was something about hers that touched it. It was ancient, cold, unfeeling- yet as everything that was Elain Archeron was ripped away, it caught a glimpse of her soul. It had never seen something so pure, so bright, or with such potential. There was a dark shroud over it from years of neglect and cowardice, but at its core it still had the power to  _create_.

Perhaps the soul of that woman could bring some warmth into the world after all.

Elain’s bones settled into something stronger, her muscles and flesh re-formed, and yet her ruined mind could not be salvaged. The beast wanted to reassure her, to give that simple, pure soul something to hope for- and keep it protected from all the darkness that might seek to put out her light.

First, it gave her Sight so that she might see the future she would help create. Then, it reached out into the room and found a soul just as bright, and just as lost. It bound that soul to hers and erupted in pure, raw  _power_  to unite them from that day until their last.

But she didn’t feel the blessing of that ancient beast in the Cauldron. Elain felt only agony, insanity, and more pain than any creature could withstand. Her core remained the same- a pillar of diamond around which she built herself- but it was scorched, crippled, and deafened by the roaring of ten thousand years’ worth of days waiting to be lived.

Elain screamed and sobbed, thrashed against the beast who only delivered  _more_  pain and anguish. She was drowning, burning, dying, and-

—

* * *

—

“Elain!” Lucien had his wife pinned to the bed as she fought and thrashed. He gritted his teeth against her strength and roared through their mating bond, “ _ELAIN!_ ”

He felt a crack in the terror. It was small, but Lucien threw his power at it, “Elain, you need to wake up. It will only stop when you wake up. Just open your eyes for me.  _Please_.” The words weren’t important- Lucien knew she couldn’t understand them. His  _voice_  was what had to get through to her. It was the light that would guide her out of that darkness.

Elain’s body jerked, her eyes opened, and her hands shot out to grip Lucien’s sides. He didn’t let her push him away, he knew she wasn’t seeing him yet. Her nails sunk in far enough to pierce his skin, but Lucien held still. He didn’t break eye contact with her.

“Elain,  _you need to wake up now_.” His voice shook as he fought back pain. Her nails dug in deeper, and white spots flashed across his vision. He was pretty sure she was boring into his ribs.

Slowly, Elain’s eyes began to focus on his golden one. She started to see him- the shocked, pale face of the male who’d claimed her as his mate before she was even sure she was still  _alive_. The light that the Cauldron had sought out to console her as she burned. She saw the golden eye that inspected her, assessing her condition, the hazel eye beside it filled with such love and concern, and felt her husband’s skin beneath her palms solid and warm and  _real_.

Elain took a deep, shuddering breath and heaved a sob.

When she wrenched her hands free and moved to cover her face, Lucien groaned. “I wouldn’t recommend that.” His shoulders sagged, but he remained above Elain for a moment as he caught his breath.

She looked at her hands. Blood coated them, thick and fresh. Elain gasped and looked to her husband’s bare chest where ten holes marred his tan skin. She whimpered and reached out to touch them.

“It’s fine,” Lucien caught a hand before she had a chance to inspect the wounds, to see just how deep her fingers had ripped into him. Blood was dripping down onto her chest, he heaved himself back and shuddered.

“Lucien?” Elain whimpered. Her whole body was shivering, and she was trapped between blind panic and horror at what she’d done to his chest.

Again.

“I’m alright,” Lucien murmured. He took her face in his hands and brushed the tears from her cheeks, “Was it the Cauldron again?” She nodded. “Okay, it’s okay. Let’s get cleaned up, then I’ll make you something strong.”

Lucien pulled the sheets aside so Elain could get out of bed without touching anything. She was still shaking, still teetering on the edge between hysterical sobbing and horror at the state of Lucien’s chest. He slid out of bed slowly, and couldn’t suppress his hiss of pain. Her nails hadn’t just pierced him, they’d acted as pilot holes through which Elain’s fingers had bored in through flesh and muscle. It wouldn’t heal quickly, and it was going to hurt a hell of a lot more before it was better. He tried to assess his wounds without drawing attention to them- but those nails had scraped along bone, and pain like that was hard to hide.

He didn’t let the pain stop him as he walked around to Elain’s side of the bed and offered his hand to help her stand. As soon as she was on her feet, he felt her sagging and quickly scooped her up.

“Lucien-“ worry filled her eyes when he went shock-white and bit his lip, but her mate only grunted and carried her across the bedroom. In the bathroom, he kicked the bench of her vanity over to the sink.

While Elain washed her hands, Lucien sat in the tub. He didn’t try to fill it, but instead used the running faucet and a small washcloth to wipe away the blood on his chest and dab at his wounds. Blood was dripping all the way down his legs, and he was thankful he still slept nude.

Elain felt her mind beginning to settle as she concentrated on cleaning her hands. She breathed in the distinct scent of Lucien’s blood and let that primal fae rage solidify the world around her. Someone had hurt her mate-  _she_  had hurt her mate. It was a testament to just how strong the nightmares were when they seized her. Normally it was so unthinkable to harm one’s mate that most fae thought it was impossible. For her to hurt him so horribly before the memories faded…

Guilt made her tears flow once more.

When she was clean, Elain removed her bloody nightgown and opened the first-aid drawer. She popped the entire thing out and carried it to the tub where Lucien was working on his right side.

She sat to his left, and with only a gentle tap, Lucien raised his elbow so that she could inspect the five puncture wounds on that side. They were deep and already beginning to swell.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lucien’s voice was soft.

Elain carefully dabbed some cream into the largest wound- where her thumb had gone through. He jerked away from the contact, but forced himself to hold still as she delicately treated his injuries, “How many strikes do I have?”

“One,” he said, already resigned.

“Two then,” Elain murmured.

“Two,” Lucien caught Elain’s hand as she dabbed his wounds. He brushed his lips along the back, sealing the matter with a kiss.

The nightmares were Elain’s biggest secret. She taught herself to suffer through them as quietly as possible, to endure without tipping off anyone else in the townhouse. Each night she would pack her door with towels and blankets, then wrap more around herself until she was nearly sweating- all to ensure no one would hear.

Lucien had been courting Elain for a few months when they decided to introduce a more physical side to their relationship. Their first time together, the couple accidentally activated their mating bond. She thought everything would be alright- that the love she felt for Lucien and him for her would chase away her bad dreams once and for all.

A week after they were mated, the nightmares returned.

 _I’m sorry_ , she’d cried when he shook her awake. Elain didn’t want to talk about it- she didn’t even want him to  _acknowledge_  it… But he knew another male who ignored his lover’s nightmares, and how things turned out for both of them.

Lucien was the one to propose their deal- she was allowed to dismiss him two nightmares in a row, but after the third she had no choice. She  _had_  to talk to him. He was her mate, he felt her pain through the bond and more often than not he had to physically restrain her as she thrashed. His injuries that night were nowhere near the first Elain had bandaged. So long as blood was drawn, he needed some sort of assurance that she would (eventually) speak to him.

“Don’t,” Lucien put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up towards his. There was a quiver there his golden eye had detected.

“I hurt my mate.” Her voice was soft.

“Did you want to?” Elain shook her head, “If you were awake, would you have?” Again, she shook her head, “Then don’t torture yourself. It was the nightmare, not you.”

“You’re hurt,” she could hardly look her mate in the eye.

“That’s not your fault. It’s Hybern’s fault- or the Cauldron’s- but not yours.” He saw the way her eyes flickered when he spoke, “One of the Cauldron dreams, then?” Sometimes she saw Hybern, killed him over and over again. What woke her from those nightmares wasn’t fear, it was horror at the satisfaction she’d taken as she shoved the blade through his throat.

“ _Two_ ,” Elain repeated as she gently pressed a large gauze pad over the wounds. She didn’t want to talk about it.

“Alright, I’m sorry. Two.” Elain stood and Lucien hissed in pain as he slid down the tub’s bench so that his mate could help patch his wounds. “I’ll throw on some pants and go make your tea. You can stay up here if you’d like.” She was usually drained after such a violent nightmare, and while she wouldn’t sleep the rest of the night, she might want to look out at Velaris, read, or write.

“I’ll come with you,” Elain said quickly. Lucien’s heart sank- the lingering fear of being alone meant it was a particularly bad nightmare.

While Elain focused on the wounds to his side, Lucien tipped forward only slightly to rest his lips against her forehead. He was trying desperately to hide his pain, but he knew she would blame herself for days regardless of what he said or did. It was hard to even think through the fire in his ribs… but as much pain as he was in, what she must have felt to inflict such wounds had to be truly monstrous.

Lucien let Elain pull away after she’d covered the other set with cream and gauze, but only far enough to begin wrapping a length of linen tightly around his chest. Blood was already seeping through the coverings on both sides and when Elain noticed the first bandage was almost entirely drenched in it, tears began to slip down her cheeks once more.

“Elain, please don’t cry,” Lucien said as she whimpered. He waited until she’d finished with the wrapping before pulling her in close. His toes curled against the agonizing motion and Lucien pressed her head to his shoulder to hide his grimace, but he forced himself to only show pain where she couldn’t see.

He held her in the tub and stroked the back of her head as his wife’s tears fell onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he let tears of his own drip down his cheeks, “I’m sorry I can’t make it better. I’m sorry I can’t help you fight the nightmares.”

Lucien waited patiently for her trembling to subside, for exhaustion to creep in and carry away even her tears. Elain slid back at long last and brushed her lips across his, a gentle thanks. Her eyes were still red rimmed and overbright, and Lucien’s heart shattered at the pain sitting just beneath the surface. He cupped her cheeks and stroked this thumbs through the tear-tracks, wiping away the worst of it. When Elain sniffled he didn’t hesitate to wipe that away too, then rinsed his hand in the streaming faucet.

“I don’t know about you, but I could really go for some tea.” He whispered. Elain nodded and slid back off his lap.

Her soft hands took his and she helped him stand. The pain was turning into something deep, a beast of its own that throbbed and pounded. With his feet beneath him, the agony only intensified. Elain left Lucien by the tub a moment while she brought loose cotton pants in from his wardrobe. His heart broke as she knelt without even meeting his eyes and helped him put one foot, then the other through the legs of the pants. They both knew he couldn’t manage them on his own with the wounds in his sides, but seeing her so worried about him while she was still in pain-

All he could offer in consolation was a slow, simple kiss to show her that he loved her, and that he did not blame her for any of it.

They didn’t speak as the two walked back through their bedroom and out into the narrow hall. Elain’s nightmares drove her to this home- a lovely house by the wharf as far from Feyre and Rhys’ townhouse as she could get. It was a hideout as much as anything, and it broke Lucien’s heart. He’d hired Feyre to paint flowers on every doorway and commissioned bright, cheery landscapes to fill the walls. But no matter how much light and warmth he brought into the house, the darkness was always waiting to pounce.

How did Tamlin do it? How did any male who professed to love someone simply… ignore them? How could his heart stand to hear Feyre crying in bed beside him and not  _once_  reach out to hold her, to comfort her? Lucien didn’t understand it while it was happening. Now that he had someone of his own to hold and protect- even the bags beneath Elain’s eyes the morning after a nightmare were abhorrent to him, an abomination… And yet Feyre’s had been the same,  _worse_ even with no one to help her. How could he leave her to suffer?

 _How could_ I _leave her to suffer?_

In a way, that was why Lucien was more than happy to brave the pain and agony each time he pulled Elain out of her nightmares. Not only to protect and defend his wife and mate, but to atone for every last word he’d ever spoken in Tamlin’s defense. Every time he told Feyre to just  _hold on_  and  _endure_. His bond to Elain was closer than anything he’d ever even considered with her sister, but how could anyone watch another suffer in that way without stepping in?

Lucien’s stomach was rolling by the time they reached the kitchen. Pain made him feel sick, and he had a feeling that before lunch he would be sneaking out to visit Madja for a little more intensive healing.

“Let me, please?” Elain said.  Lucien had guided her to one of the stools, but her eyes were on the blood seeping through the newest layer of gauze. Her resolve was shattered, and he knew it would only take a shake of his head to get her to sit… but what she needed wasn’t pampering, it was a reminder that the world around her was solid and unmoving. That everything was as it should be and not some simple illusion to torment her.

“Alright,” Lucien kissed her forehead again, “anything you want.”

He sat on the stool instead and waited quietly while Elain boiled water for tea. With barely half a glance to the pale sheen of his face, she pulled a jar of dried peppermint leaves from the tea chest and crushed a few into a mesh bag. Lucien sighed as the aroma reached him, and when Elain handed him his mug he made sure to stroke her fingers as he took it.

Peppermint to sooth his churning stomach. She knew he wasn’t as well as he pretended.

“You aren’t supposed to keep it from me,” Elain barely spoke loud enough for him to hear.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

When he found out about the sheer scope of her nightmares, Lucien convinced Elain to accompany him to a special physician in Day. It was a long distance for him to winnow with her, but the female was an expert in trauma. She and Elain would speak privately for an hour or so each week and occasionally Lucien was asked to join the meetings. She gave him much needed advice on how to best help his wife face her demons- how to support her without undermining the treatment.

Elain needed to find her strength, something she could hold to against the dark. Feyre’s therapy had been Rhysand and the Inner Circle, then painting and training until she’d realized she was stronger than what haunted her. Between her baking, gardening, and those meetings in Day Elain had made remarkable improvement, but the doctor had warned that all would be for naught if she didn’t think she could trust Lucien to be honest about what he was feeling too.

“This is helping, thank you,” Lucien offered after a few sips. Peppermint always soothed his stomach when he was sick, and though this time it was roiling for an entirely different reason, the warmth did clear his head.

She didn’t speak as she sat beside him to drink her own tea, but Lucien didn’t expect her to. She needed to think, to process what had happened, what she’d felt, and where she was now. He could only drink his tea and give her a chance to think. When she finished her tea, Lucien held out his hand.

Elain didn’t even hesitate to slide her small fingers through his.

“Do you want anything stronger?” he said.

“No, I did that last time. I don’t want the alcohol to become a crutch.” Elain’s face was pale and haggard.  She was exhausted, too tired to stay awake but too afraid to sleep.

“Want to go for a walk through the garden?”

“No,” Elain sighed. Her eyes flickered back to his, then away just as quickly.

“Tell me and we’ll go.” She wanted to do something, she was just too afraid to ask.

“It- It might not be…. I-“

“You don’t have to explain,” Lucien squeezed her hand, “just tell me where and we’ll go. No questions, no discussion, nothing.”

“Under the Mountain.” She barely whispered the words.

Lucien opened his mouth to debate as reason after reason why they shouldn’t go rose to his lips. It was dangerous, there could still be some monsters lurking in the halls, the High Lords were the only ones who were supposed to just go there at will, it was created by the same Cauldron that tortured Elain’s memories-

-but he only took a deep breath and nodded. Lucien rallied his strength and propelled them to the depths of the Hewn City, where one of those strange, magic tunnels connected into Under the Mountain.

He summoned a faelight and led Elain down the tunnel. Every breath was a fight against that throbbing in his ribs, but Lucien kept pace beside his wife as the walls around them began to change from obsidian to red marble. Elain took his hand and held it tight as something brushed against them both- light as a breeze but with that same weight as that damned Cauldron’s magic.

Elain seemed to follow her own path as she turned from the main tunnel down a side one. That presence only grew stronger. He hadn’t noticed it the handful of times before that he’d gone to Under the Mountain, but back then no one really knew the scent and taste of the Cauldron. Not like they did now.

“Wait,” Lucien realized where they were all of the sudden and stopped Elain. They were nearing a dark iron door- a discrete passage into what Amarantha once claimed as her throne room. The very heart of Under the Mountain. This was where Rhys had tried to help Tamlin and Feyre escape, where he’d let Amarantha find him with his tongue down her throat to hide the other High Lord’s scent on her. There were rumors that he’d been made to pay  _dearly_  for that… but he’d tried to save them all the same. His enemy and his mate.

But if the throne room was really on the other side of that door…

“Let me look first. Please.”

Elain nodded and Lucien slipped past. He grabbed the handle and opened the door just a fraction, then sent a blinding faelight in to illuminate the space.

There wasn’t so much as a hint of what had happened there for fifty years. No stains of blood on the floor, no bodies on the walls, even Claire Beddor had been laid to rest by those who refused to leave the sacred mountain until everything was put right again. The only signs of the past were a small pile of rubble where Amarantha’s throne had been smashed to oblivion, and cracks to mark where Feyre had died, where Rhys had been thrown trying to save her, and where Tamlin had driven Lucien’s sword through the crimson whore before ripping out her throat.

“Alright,” Lucien held a hand back for Elain, “it’s safe.”

She stepped into the room and Lucien immediately noticed the tremor in her hands. She was terrified, but she did not want to leave. She simply walked to the middle of the room and looked up at the stone above, then closed her eyes and  _felt_  the power around her.

“It feels the same,” she whispered. “It’s only an echo, but it feels exactly the same. I- I know that it’s stupid but…” Elain drew Lucien in closer. She wrapped his hands around her hips until he was holding her tight, then wrapped her own arms around his bare chest- mindful to avoid the bloody bandages. She rested her head on his chest and listened to the beating of her husband’s heart, breathed his scent deep, and felt his love surround her.

Her greatest comfort and greatest fear together. Lucien- her shining light- and the insidious whisper of the Cauldron.

She was safe… and yet drowning again.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. It can’t hurt you.” He’d been there before too and failed to stop it… But Lucien forced those thoughts away and concentrated on his wife.

“You’re here,” she repeated. “You’re here…” She didn’t move again until her heartbeat slowed and something soothed the fear in her heart. Elain held Lucien as tightly as she would any lifeline, until she didn’t sense the Cauldron so much as a big, dark mountain.

This place- it was Feyre and Rhysand’s Hell.

And Elain’s salvation.

“Home,” she said.

In seconds, they were back in the kitchen in Velaris, and the Cauldron’s magic was simply  _gone_.

Elain wasn’t sure she could ever explain to Lucien what that felt like- to be lost in that same sense of darkness and power, that same cruel void and yet be able to just…  _leave_. She couldn’t confront the Cauldron, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to, but burying herself in the same power she’d felt while she drowned and simply dismissing it…

She squeezed Lucien a little tighter and didn’t make any move to pull away as he stroked her hair once more. Something in her was quieted for now, and while she certainly wasn’t past her nightmares, she felt stronger. Braver.

“I think I’m ready to talk.” Elain said.

A relieved smile spread across Lucien’s face as she pulled him towards the sitting room. He let her guide him to the sofa and, despite her worries and his growing discomfort, he pulled her down to recline against his chest so that he could hold her safe and warm.

Elain told him everything- in more detail than she’d ever managed before. She’d never really confronted it all as more than a concept- she focused on the overarching fact that she had gone in and been changed than the moment-to-moment experience of it all.

Lucien asked few questions as she spoke, and when her words turned into murmurs, her murmurs to whispers, and those whispers faded into the occasional sleepy sound, he ignored the throbbing in his sides and smiled. Down the mating bond he could feel only peace and calm as Elain began to dream.

Their trip Under the Mountain had grounded her, given her something to stand on when she fought back against the darkness inside.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair. “My brave, beautiful, wonderful mate.”

A happy sigh was her only response. This wasn’t the end of her nightmares, but it was the beginning of her victory over them. The first true step on a long, difficult road, one Lucien would walk with her each and every step of the way.

He fell asleep a few minutes later and woke bathed in sunlight and warmth. His wounds were sore and his neck ached from sleeping upright on the couch, but when Elain shifted against him and opened her eyes, nothing else mattered.

For the first time in as long as either of them could remember, she woke with a smile on her face.


	2. Elriel Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elriel version of Strength in Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only time I will post Elriel drafts of an Elucien fic. It was done here as a special occasion to mark 6,000 followers on my tumblr Rhysand-vs-Rowan . I am still a diehard Elucien shipper.

##  **Strength in Darkness (Elriel Edition)**

 

_Help me!_

_Please- Feyre, Nesta, help me!_

Elain was being boiled alive. Every atom of her being was ripped apart and reordered as she thrashed in fire and darkness. Her own screaming was all she heard. Her entire world had been ripped away and replaced with only agony and solitude. Inch by inch, her body stopped being hers and became something  _else_.

Days passed in blinding agony.

Weeks.

Months.

Centuries.

She stopped trying to hold on to any semblance of sanity as she felt  _something_  surrounding her in her pain. It was drawn in by her suffering and- and she realized she didn’t care what it was. A monster come to devour her? If so, that meant her ordeal might end.

With everything she had left, she reached for that beast, giving it permission to destroy her. Death was the only release she could imagine anymore. If she survived, she would have to feel it always. That acid melting her bones and the fires reforming her- the agony would never end.

The beast had devoured souls before, but there was something about hers that touched it. It was ancient, cold, unfeeling- yet as everything that was Elain Archeron was ripped away, it caught a glimpse of her soul. It had never seen something so pure, so bright, or with such potential. There was a dark shroud over it from years of neglect and cowardice, but at its core it still had the power to  _create_.

Perhaps the soul of that woman could bring some warmth into the world after all.

Elain’s bones settled into something stronger, her muscles and flesh re-formed, and yet her ruined mind could not be salvaged. The beast wanted to reassure her, to give that simple, pure soul something to hope for- and keep it protected from all the darkness that might seek to put out her light.

It gave her Sight so that she might see the future she would help create. Every sunny day, every moment of laughter- but she didn’t feel the blessing of that ancient beast in the Cauldron. Elain felt only agony, insanity, and more pain than any creature could withstand. Her core remained the same- a pillar of diamond around which she built herself- but it was scorched, crippled, and deafened by the roaring of ten thousand years’ worth of days waiting to be lived.

Elain screamed and sobbed, thrashed against the beast who only delivered  _more_  pain and anguish. She was drowning, burning, dying, and-

—

* * *

—

“Elain!” Azriel had his wife pinned to the bed as she fought and thrashed. He gritted his teeth against her strength and roared down the mental bond Rhys helped them forge, “ _ELAIN!_ ”

He felt a crack in the terror. It was small, but Azriel threw his power at it, “Elain, you need to wake up. It will only stop when you wake up. Just open your eyes for me.  _Please_.” The words weren’t important- Azriel knew she couldn’t understand them. His  _voice_  was what had to get through to her. It was the light that would guide her out of that darkness.

Elain’s body jerked, her eyes opened, and her hands shot out to grip Azriel’s sides. He didn’t let her push him away, he knew she wasn’t seeing him yet. Her nails sunk in far enough to pierce his skin, but Azriel held still. He didn’t break eye contact with her.

“Elain,  _you need to wake up now_.” His voice shook as he fought back pain. Her nails dug in deeper, and white spots flashed across his vision. He was pretty sure she was boring into his ribs.

Slowly, Elain’s eyes began to focus on his golden one. She started to see him- the shocked, pale face of her husband. She saw the shadows around him that inspected her, assessing her condition, his dark eyes  filled with such love and concern, and felt her husband’s skin beneath her palms solid and warm and  _real_.

Elain took a deep, shuddering breath and heaved a sob.

When she wrenched her hands free and moved to cover her face, Azriel groaned. “I wouldn’t recommend that.” His shoulders sagged, but he remained above Elain for a moment as he caught his breath.

She looked at her hands. Blood coated them, thick and fresh. Elain gasped and looked to her husband’s bare chest where ten holes marred his tan skin. She whimpered and reached out to touch them.

“It’s fine,” Azriel caught a hand before she had a chance to inspect the wounds, to see just how deep her fingers had ripped into him. Blood was dripping down onto her chest, he heaved himself back and shuddered.

“Az?” Elain whimpered. Her whole body was shivering, and she was trapped between blind panic and horror at what she’d done to his chest.

Again.

“I’m alright,” Azriel murmured. He took her face in his hands and brushed the tears from her cheeks, “Was it the Cauldron again?” She nodded. “Okay, it’s okay. Let’s get cleaned up, then I’ll make you something strong.”

Azriel pulled the sheets aside so Elain could get out of bed without touching anything. She was still shaking, still teetering on the edge between hysterical sobbing and horror at the state of Azriel’s chest. He slid out of bed slowly, and couldn’t suppress his hiss of pain. Her nails hadn’t just pierced him, they’d acted as pilot holes through which Elain’s fingers had bored in through flesh and muscle. It wouldn’t heal quickly, and it was going to hurt a hell of a lot more before it was better. He tried to assess his wounds without drawing attention to them- but those nails had scraped along bone, and pain like that was hard to hide.

He didn’t let the pain stop him as he walked around to Elain’s side of the bed and offered his hand to help her stand. As soon as she was on her feet, he felt her sagging and quickly scooped her up.

“Az-“ worry filled her eyes when he went shock-white and bit his lip, but her husband only grunted and carried her across the bedroom. In the bathroom, he kicked the bench of her vanity over to the sink.

While Elain washed her hands, Azriel sat in the tub. He didn’t try to fill it, but instead used the running faucet and a small washcloth to wipe away the blood on his chest and dab at his wounds. Blood was dripping all the way down his legs, and he was thankful he still slept nude.

Elain felt her mind beginning to settle as she concentrated on cleaning her hands. She breathed in the distinct scent of Azriel’s blood and let that primal fae rage solidify the world around her. Someone had hurt her husband-  _she_  had hurt her husband. It was a testament to just how strong the nightmares were when they seized her.

Guilt made her tears flow once more.

When she was clean, Elain removed her bloody nightgown and opened the first-aid drawer. She popped the entire thing out and carried it to the tub where Azriel was working on his right side.

She sat to his left, and with only a gentle tap, Azriel raised his elbow so that she could inspect the five puncture wounds on that side. They were deep and already beginning to swell.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Azriel’s voice was soft.

Elain carefully dabbed some cream into the largest wound- where her thumb had gone through. He jerked away from the contact, but forced himself to hold still as she delicately treated his injuries, “How many strikes do I have?”

“One,” he said, already resigned.

“Two then,” Elain murmured.

“Two,” Azriel caught Elain’s hand as she dabbed his wounds. He brushed his lips along the back, sealing the matter with a kiss.

The nightmares were Elain’s biggest secret. She taught herself to suffer through them as quietly as possible, to endure without tipping off anyone else in the townhouse. Each night she would pack her door with towels and blankets, then wrap more around herself until she was nearly sweating- all to ensure no one would hear.

Azriel had been courting Elain for half a year before they decided to wed without ever spending a single night together. He hadn’t questioned it one bit- if she wanted to wait until marriage that was her right, he had no idea that she was hiding something. Elain thought that with marriage everything would be alright- that the love she felt for Azriel and him for her would chase away her bad dreams once and for all.

But she was wrong.

Her own nerves combined with the feeling of Azriel’s wing draped across her after their coupling- an innocent blanket against the cold night air- triggered Elain. Demure shyness coupled with his presence surrounding her- she woke screaming with him as confused and frightened as she was.

 _I’m sorry,_  she’d fallen to the floor sobbing. Elain didn’t want to talk about it- she didn’t even want him to acknowledge that the nightmare had happened… But be knew of another male who had ignored his lover’s nightmares, and how horribly their relationship ended.

Azriel was the one to propose their deal- she was allowed to dismiss his questions two nightmares in a row, but after the third she had no choice. She  _had_  to talk to him. He loved her desperately and hated to push her to speak, but his injuries that night were nowhere near the first Elain had bandaged. So long as blood was drawn, he needed some sort of assurance that she would (eventually) speak to him.

“Don’t,” Azriel put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up towards his. There was a quiver there his shadows had detected.

“I hurt my husband.” Her voice was soft.

“Did you want to?” Elain shook her head, “If you were awake, would you have?” Again, she shook her head, “Then don’t torture yourself. It was the nightmare, not you.”

“You’re hurt,” she could hardly look her husband in the eye.

“That’s not your fault. It’s Hybern’s fault- or the Cauldron’s- but not yours.” He saw the way her eyes flickered when he spoke, “One of the Cauldron dreams, then?” Sometimes she saw Hybern, killed him over and over again. What woke her from those nightmares wasn’t fear, it was horror at the satisfaction she’d taken as she shoved the blade through his throat.

“ _Two_ ,” Elain repeated as she gently pressed a large gauze pad over the wounds. She didn’t want to talk about it.

“Alright, I’m sorry. Two.” Elain stood and Azriel hissed in pain as he slid down the tub’s bench so that his wife could help patch his wounds. “I’ll throw on some pants and go make your tea. You can stay up here if you’d like.” She was usually drained after such a violent nightmare, and while she wouldn’t sleep the rest of the night, she might want to look out at Velaris, read, or write.

“I’ll come with you,” Elain said quickly. Azriel’s heart sank- the lingering fear of being alone meant it was a particularly bad nightmare.

While Elain focused on the wounds to his side, Azriel tipped forward only slightly to rest his lips against her forehead. He was trying desperately to hide his pain, but he knew she would blame herself for days regardless of what he said or did. It was hard to even think through the fire in his ribs… but as much pain as he was in, what she must have felt to inflict such wounds had to be truly monstrous.

Azriel let Elain pull away after she’d covered the other set with cream and gauze, but only far enough to begin wrapping a length of linen tightly around his chest. Blood was already seeping through the coverings on both sides and when Elain noticed the first bandage was almost entirely drenched in it, tears began to slip down her cheeks once more.

“Elain, please don’t cry,” Azriel said as she whimpered. He waited until she’d finished with the wrapping before pulling her in close. His toes curled against the agonizing motion and Azriel pressed her head to his shoulder to hide his grimace, but he forced himself to only show pain where she couldn’t see.

He held her in the tub and stroked the back of her head as his wife’s tears fell onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he let tears of his own drip down his cheeks, “I’m sorry I can’t make it better. I’m sorry I can’t help you fight the nightmares.”

Azriel waited patiently for her trembling to subside, for exhaustion to creep in and carry away even her tears. Elain slid back at long last and brushed her lips across his, a gentle thanks. Her eyes were still red rimmed and overbright, and Azriel’s heart shattered at the pain sitting just beneath the surface. He cupped her cheeks and stroked this thumbs through the tear-tracks, wiping away the worst of it. When Elain sniffled he didn’t hesitate to wipe that away too, then rinsed his hand in the streaming faucet.

“I don’t know about you, but I could really go for some tea.” He whispered. Elain nodded and slid back off his lap.

Her soft hands took his and she helped him stand. The pain was turning into something deep, a beast of its own that throbbed and pounded. With his feet beneath him, the agony only intensified. Elain left Azriel by the tub a moment while she brought loose cotton pants in from his wardrobe. His heart broke as she knelt without even meeting his eyes and helped him put one foot, then the other through the legs of the pants. They both knew he couldn’t manage them on his own with the wounds in his sides, but seeing her so worried about him while she was still in pain-

All he could offer in consolation was a slow, simple kiss to show her that he loved her, and that he did not blame her for any of it.

They didn’t speak as the two walked back through their bedroom and out into the narrow hall. Elain’s nightmares drove her to this home- a lovely house by the wharf as far from Feyre and Rhys’ townhouse as she could get. It was a hideout as much as anything, and it broke Azriel’s heart. After they were wed and he moved in, he’d hired Feyre to paint flowers on every doorway and commissioned bright, cheery landscapes to fill the walls. But no matter how much light and warmth he brought into the house, the darkness was always waiting to pounce.

How did Tamlin do it? How did any male who professed to love someone simply… ignore them? How could his heart stand to hear Feyre crying in bed beside him and not  _once_  reach out to hold her, to comfort her? When Mor came back from meeting Feyre for the first time and confided to them the state of Rhys’ mate, Azriel couldn’t even begin to understand how her own fiancée justified leaving her to fight the darkness alone. Now that he had someone of his own to hold and protect… even the bags beneath Elain’s eyes the morning after a nightmare were abhorrent to him, an abomination.

How could anyone watch another suffer- let alone someone they claimed to love- without stepping in?

Azriel’s stomach was rolling by the time they reached the kitchen. Pain made him feel sick, and he had a feeling that before lunch he would be sneaking out to visit Madja for a little more intensive healing.

“Let me, please?” Elain said.  Azriel had guided her to one of the stools, but her eyes were on the blood seeping through the newest layer of gauze. Her resolve was shattered, and he knew it would only take a shake of his head to get her to sit… but what she needed wasn’t pampering, it was a reminder that the world around her was solid and unmoving. That everything was as it should be and not some simple illusion to torment her.

“Alright,” Azriel kissed her forehead again, “anything you want.”

He sat on the stool instead and waited quietly while Elain boiled water for tea. With barely half a glance to the pale sheen of his face, she pulled a jar of dried peppermint leaves from the tea chest and crushed a few into a mesh bag. Azriel sighed as the aroma reached him, and when Elain handed him his mug he made sure to stroke her fingers as he took it.

Peppermint to sooth his churning stomach. She knew he wasn’t as well as he pretended.

“You aren’t supposed to keep it from me,” Elain barely spoke loud enough for him to hear.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

When he found out about the sheer scope of her nightmares, Azriel convinced Elain to accompany him to a special physician in Day- an expert in trauma. She and Elain would speak privately for an hour or so each week and occasionally Azriel was asked to join the meetings. She gave him much needed advice on how to best help his wife face her demons- how to support her without undermining the treatment.

Elain needed to find her strength, something she could hold to against the dark. Feyre’s therapy had come in the form of Rhysand and the Inner Circle simply accepting her as family, then painting and training until she’d realized she was stronger than what haunted her. Between her baking, gardening, and those meetings in Day Elain had made remarkable improvement, but the doctor had warned that all would be for naught if she didn’t think she could trust Azriel to be honest about what he was feeling too.

“This is helping, thank you,” Azriel offered after a few sips. Peppermint always soothed his stomach when he was sick, and though this time it was roiling for an entirely different reason, the warmth did clear his head.

She didn’t speak as she sat beside him to drink her own tea, but Azriel didn’t expect her to. She needed to think, to process what had happened, what she’d felt, and where she was now. He could only drink his tea and give her a chance to think.

When she finished her tea, Azriel held out his hand. Elain didn’t even hesitate to slide her small fingers through his.

“Do you want anything stronger?” he said.

“No, I did that last time. I don’t want the alcohol to become a crutch.” Elain’s face was pale and haggard.  She was exhausted, too tired to stay awake but too afraid to sleep.

“Want to go for a walk through the garden?”

“No,” Elain sighed. Her eyes flickered back to his, then away just as quickly.

“Tell me and we’ll go.” She wanted to do something, she was just too afraid to ask.

“It- It might not be…. I-“

“You don’t have to explain,” Azriel squeezed her hand, “just tell me where and we’ll go. No questions, no discussion, nothing.”

“Under the Mountain.” She barely whispered the words.

Azriel opened his mouth to debate as reason after reason why they shouldn’t go rose to his lips. It was dangerous, there could still be some monsters lurking in the halls, the High Lords were the only ones who were supposed to just go there at will, it was created by the same Cauldron that tortured Elain’s memories-

-but he only took a deep breath and nodded. Azriel rallied his strength and propelled them to the depths of the Hewn City, where one of those strange, magic tunnels connected into Under the Mountain.

He summoned a faelight and led Elain down the tunnel. Every breath was a fight against that throbbing in his ribs, but Azriel kept pace beside his wife as the walls around them began to change from obsidian to red marble. Elain took his hand and held it tight as something brushed against them both- light as a breeze but with that same weight as that damned Cauldron’s magic.

Elain seemed to follow her own path as she turned from the main tunnel down a side one. That presence only grew stronger. He hadn’t noticed it any of the handful of times he’d gone Under the Mountain in his 500 years, but back then no one really knew the scent and taste of the Cauldron. Not like they did now.

“Wait,” Azriel realized where they were all of the sudden and stopped Elain. They were nearing a dark iron door- a discrete passage into what Amarantha once claimed as her throne room. The very heart of Under the Mountain. According to the stories he’d pieced together, this was likely where Rhys had tried to help Tamlin and Feyre escape, where he’d let Amarantha find him with his tongue down her throat to hide the other High Lord’s scent on her.

But if the throne room was really on the other side of that door…

“Let me look first. Please.”

Elain nodded and Azriel slipped past. He grabbed the handle and opened the door just a fraction, then sent a blinding faelight in to illuminate the space.

There wasn’t so much as a hint of what had happened there for fifty years. No stains of blood on the floor, no bodies on the walls, even the human girl Rhys was forced to destroy, Claire Beddor, had been laid to rest. The only signs of the past were a small pile of rubble where Amarantha’s throne had been smashed to oblivion, and cracks to mark where Feyre had died, where Rhys had been thrown trying to save her, and where Tamlin had driven Lucien’s sword through the crimson whore before ripping out her throat. Elain wouldn’t even know those marks were out of place.

“Alright,” Azriel held a hand back for Elain, “it’s safe.”

She stepped into the room and Azriel immediately noticed the tremor in her hands. She was terrified, but she did not want to leave. She simply walked to the middle of the room and looked up at the stone above, then closed her eyes and  _felt_  the power around her.

“It feels the same,” she whispered. “It’s only an echo, but it feels exactly the same. I- I know that it’s stupid but…” Elain drew Azriel in closer. She wrapped his hands around her hips until he was holding her tight, then wrapped her own arms around his bare chest- mindful to avoid the bloody bandages. She rested her head on his chest and listened to the beating of her husband’s heart, breathed his scent deep, and felt his love surround her.

Her greatest comfort and greatest fear together. Azriel- her shining light- and the insidious whisper of the Cauldron.

She was safe… and yet drowning again.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. It can’t hurt you.” He’d been there before too and failed to stop it… But Azriel forced those thoughts away and concentrated on his wife.

“You’re here,” she repeated. “You’re here…” She didn’t move again until her heartbeat slowed and something soothed the fear in her heart. Elain held Azriel as tightly as she would any lifeline, until she didn’t sense the Cauldron so much as a big, dark mountain.

This place- it was Feyre and Rhysand’s Hell.

And Elain’s salvation.

“Home,” she said.

In seconds, they were back in the kitchen in Velaris, and the Cauldron’s magic was simply  _gone_.

Elain wasn’t sure she could ever explain to Azriel what that felt like- to be lost in that same sense of darkness and power, that same cruel void and yet be able to just…  _leave_. She couldn’t confront the Cauldron, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to, but burying herself in the same power she’d felt while she drowned and simply dismissing it…

She squeezed Azriel a little tighter and didn’t make any move to pull away as he stroked her hair once more. Something in her was quieted for now, and while she certainly wasn’t past her nightmares, she felt stronger. Braver.

“I think I’m ready to talk.” Elain said.

A relieved smile spread across Azriel’s face as she pulled him towards the sitting room. He let her guide him to the sofa and, despite her worries and his growing discomfort, he pulled her down to recline against his chest so that he could hold her safe and warm.

Elain told him everything- in more detail than she’d ever managed before. She’d never really confronted it all as more than a concept- she focused on the overarching fact that she had gone in and been changed than the moment-to-moment experience of it all.

Azriel asked few questions as she spoke, and when her words turned into murmurs, her murmurs to whispers, and those whispers faded into the occasional sleepy sound, he ignored the throbbing in his sides and smiled. Down the mental bond he could feel only peace and calm as Elain began to dream.

Their trip Under the Mountain had grounded her, given her something to stand on when she fought back against the darkness inside.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair. “My brave, beautiful, wonderful bride.”

A happy sigh was her only response. This wasn’t the end of her nightmares, but it was the beginning of her victory over them. The first true step on a long, difficult road, one Azriel would walk with her each and every step of the way.

He fell asleep a few minutes later and woke bathed in sunlight and warmth. His wounds were sore and his neck ached from sleeping upright on the couch, but when Elain shifted against him and opened her eyes, nothing else mattered.

For the first time in as long as either of them could remember, she woke with a smile on her face.


End file.
